The Breath Of Past

dry dust
sand rains down
as the machines turn
on their own volition

like the centuries turn
do the cogs revolve
like the planet's ellipse
does this place revisit its past

there are no memories
only patterns
there can be no memories
by design

what drives this place
its metal heart beating
to the drums of its design
in chorus with the raging winds

the heat builds
an unnatural glow
voices in the wind
ride on the drones of death

the sleeping warden
incoherent dreams projecting
fragments bright and sharp
piercing consciousness

dust covered purpose
ancient proxies crumbled
sync and will dissolve
a flicker of recognition

dust to dust
round and round
the breath of past
exhaled